Labyrinth
by qerrassa
Summary: It didn't matter who had come before, or what would come after; it would always be them, carving their own way through the light and the dark, embracing both wholeheartedly. Love, lust, deceit, betrayal, light, darkness and desire, all tangled together to form an unending maze of morality and temptation, logic and emotions, and facing up to the demons within. Jasper/OC, post BD.
1. Prologue: Above The Clouds

**Story:** Labyrinth

**Author:** qerrassa

**Fandom:** Twilight

**Full summary:** 'Inevitable—inexorable—relentless. It didn't matter who had come before, or what would come after; it would always be them, carving their own way through the light and the dark, embracing both wholeheartedly. "Shades of gray" seemed an appropriate phrase. On paper, life is straight and clean-cut and even; good always wins out. In actuality, it's rather like Daedalus' maze, only no one knows who is holding the string—or if there even is one. Love, lust, deceit, betrayal, light, darkness and desire, all tangled together to form an unending maze of morality and temptation, unswerving logic and heady emotions, and facing up to the demons within.'

**Rating:** Fiction M — not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language

**Genres:** Drama/Family/Friendship/Humor/Romance/Suspense

**Major pairing:** Jasper/OC

**Minor pairings: **Emmett/Rosalie, Jacob/Renesmee, Carlisle/Esme, Edward/Bella, Alice/OC, OC/OC

**Warnings: **AU, OCs, (non-explicit) suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, coarse language

* * *

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Labyrinth**_

* * *

_**Prologue: Above The Clouds**_

* * *

_**May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.**_

_**— Edward Abbey.**_

* * *

_I used to rule the world__  
__Seas would rise when I gave the word__  
__Now in the morning I sleep alone__  
__Sweep the streets I used to own_

_I used to roll the dice__  
__Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes__  
__Listen as the crowd would sing__  
__"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"_

_One minute I held the key__  
__Next the walls were closed on me__  
__And I discovered that my castles stand__  
__Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand_

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing__  
__Roman catholic choirs are singing__  
__Be my mirror, my sword and shield__  
__My missionaries in a foreign field_

_For some reason I can't explain__  
__Once you go there was never__  
__Never an honest word__  
__And that was when I ruled the world_

_It was the wicked and wild wind__  
__Blew down the doors to let me in__  
__Shattered windows and the sound of drums__  
__People couldn't believe what I'd become_

_Revolutionaries wait__  
__For my head on a silver plate__  
__I'm just a puppet on a lonely string__  
__Oh who would ever want to be king?_

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing__  
__Roman Cavalry choirs are singing__  
__Be my mirror, my sword and shield__  
__My missionaries in a foreign field_

_For some reason I can't explain__  
__I know Saint Peter won't call my name__  
__Never an honest word__  
__But that was when I ruled the world_

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing__  
__Roman Cavalry choirs are singing__  
__Be my mirror, my sword and shield__  
__My missionaries in a foreign field_

_For some reason I can't explain__  
__I know Saint Peter won't call my name__  
__Never an honest word__  
__But that was when I ruled the world_

_**Viva La Vida**__**  
**__**Coldplay**_

* * *

As long as there has been life, there has been love. Four types, divided and recognized by the Greeks first and the rest second.

_Storge_—the love of kinship and familiarity; the love of a mother for her child.

_Philia_—the love of devoted friendship; the love of a man for his comrade.

_Eros_—the love of sexual and romantic desire; the love of one for another.

_Agape_—the love of purity and divinity; the love of Jesus Christ for the human race.

Love is, beyond a doubt, the most powerful thing in the world. Just the word itself in any language sends butterflies of _something_ flapping in the stomach, a thrill of _something_ to flit down the spine, the jolt of _something_ through the veins. It can drive people to death, to murder, to madness. But it can also bring such happiness, and all people have ever wanted is to be happy, every single one of them. Philosophers and poets and thinkers have always said that humans choose precisely that which is worst for them, and perhaps that is true. But then again, humans are driven by their emotions, and the potential result far outweighs the certain risk.

All humans.

Even those who aren't truly human. Not anymore.

It is believed by people everywhere that such things as "soulmates" exist. Some scoff, deny such ideas. Everyone is their own person, everyone has problems—how can there be a missing part of one's soul? But others hope and dream, and that one word, eight letters, s-o-u-l-m-a-t-e, clinks into place and everything makes sense. Why else would they feel incomplete, feel the need to travel and search and comb the planet? It could only be their other half, the black magnet, the last puzzle piece calling out in desperation for them. The idea of true love itself is thrilling; the idea of finding that one person you need, that one person you simply cannot live without, that one person you always put before yourself—for humans are all about self-preservation, and if there's only one person you would put ahead of yourself, _for_ yourself, why wouldn't you want them, find them, see if they're worth it?—and they _always_ _are_. People watch and hear and read such stories, and writers appeal to their secret fantasies of truly _loving _and_ being loved_; not holding any part of yourself back and having someone love you anyway.

Many people never find that missing puzzle piece. But some do, and when it happens, it is always considered a blessing. And yes in_deed_y it is, and yes, the majority of the stories about finding The One—capital T, capital O—involve trials and tribulations, but that same majority always end in "how it was all worth it" and "no pain can outweigh this happiness."

This isn't one of those stories.

Yes, there will be trials and tribulations, with a little deviation from the natural, _because we do not always deal with the natural, do we?_ but there is no guarantee of a happy ending, because this isn't a fairytale, this is real life, and guess what?

In real life, there aren't always happy endings.

_This is real life._ Life is a mosaic, a mirror, an old book, a tapestry woven by the Fates themselves, filled with cracks and imperfections that make the perfect so _fucking_ perfect. This is blood and flesh, loss and death, tears and pain. But it's also the embodiment of love—every kind of love there is, because love can define us and change us, and so many in this story have been touched by love, how could I not share it?

So let us begin.

_Don't interrupt._

* * *

Statistics show that approximately one hundred and thirty-nine million babies were born in the year 1995. One of those babies was born to a young couple living in Paris, France—Alexander and Camille Lockhart, already the proud parents of four-year-old Julian Charles—named not for being a "youthful free man," but because the first name flowed into the second like a river—found themselves expecting once more.

The Lockharts were already a picture-perfect family, without and within. Twenty-year-old Alexander Lockhart, with his strong, sharply-cut features, thick black hair and penetrating eyes—their clear, pale gray color striking against a lightly tanned complexion (a mixture of Irish, American and Portuguese, it was the result of Maggie O'Donnell's three-week whirlwind romance in New York with a Latin-American bartender)—bookworm, traveler and architecture student, was considered a perfect match in every way for eighteen-year-old debutante Camille "Mimi" Bellamy, his easy-going character and dark good looks contrasting and complementing her fiery temper and fresh-faced beauty, all creamy skin and stormy blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face that was surrounded by a halo of burnished copper curls, a face that could turn from raging to shocked to compassionate in the span of ten seconds. They met in Paris, they were married in Paris and they honeymooned in Venice, where Camille fell pregnant with their first child, a strong and healthy boy. With his pale skin and angular features, dark blonde hair falling messily into clear blue eyes, Julian was the ideal mix of them; his facial structure and quick wits were entirely his father's, but his fair coloring and temperament were, without a doubt, inherited from his mother.

After a second honeymoon of sorts to Venice, on which their next child was conceived, Anastasia Simone Lockhart was born on the twenty-second of May, named for the lost princess of Russia and her own disapproving French grandmother. Again, it was noticed how this child resembled her parents so greatly as she grew, Camille's delicately pert features and blinding smile balanced by Alexander's firm chin and piercing eyes that faded to a sage color over the years, a blend of her father's gray and the green of her paternal great-grandmother, the famously beautiful Niamh O'Donnell. Her hair was dark red, also from the O'Donnell side, while the Bellamy line contributed a creamy complexion and high cheekbones. Julian and Anastasia, the fondly nicknamed "Venetian babies," shared agile minds and bodies, and both inherited their parents' charisma, their spirit, their father's love of history and architecture, their mother's appreciation of books and fine things and life itself.

Everyone who knew Alex and Mimi agreed that they were born for each other and each other only, except the couple themselves. Only within the sanctuary of the Lockhart family was it known that neither half of the whole believed they were made for each other. Mimi only once told her children what she and Alex believed in their heart of hearts, her delicate tone refined to a flawless British accent that took her years to perfect. "We were not born to fit, _mes chéris_. Yes, we suit perfectly, and yes, it may be destiny, but not once were our characters ever entirely suited to each other one moment _before_ our meeting. We made ourselves, and simply found each other when we were ready…_que sera sera_." What will be will be. Alexander then added, a barely tangible Irish lilt to his words, "Don't ever settle, loves. You'll find them at the exact moment you'll need 'em, and not a second sooner." This was followed by a loving glance to his wife, to which she responded with her own in kind. Over the years, many things had happened. Oh yes, there were arguments and tantrums, bouts of possessiveness and jealousy, Alex's hair streaked gray with age and tiny lines were scored near eyes and mouth in both faces—laughter lines, they called them—but there was also joy and sweetness and for the rest of their lives, they never stopped looking at each other like that—like they were the only people in the world.

The Lockhart children did follow in their parents' footsteps, so firmly carved along one path. After tragedy struck six years later, the result of a rickety flight of stairs and the unfortunate pull of gravity, neither Camille nor Alexander could stand to live any longer in the place where two had been raised and the third never would be. It was tainted now, but Avalon, a small town in California, was not, and so that was where they moved with heavy suitcases and reluctant children in tow. Friends were found and football and ballet were brought into the Lockhart home, followed about four years later by a little bundle of translucent skin and dark tufts of hair, accented by bright eyes so like those of Venetian Baby the First. And she was named Cordelia Pearl, their gemstone, their heart, their daughter of the sea. And their family was complete.

For now.

In the end, all three found the other half of themselves, just at the right moment; just as their parents said—for within all three hearts, there lay the potential to love with all the intensity and devotion of those same parents, the love others could only ever dream about. The eldest had a fairly easy time of it; _she_ fell in love with him at first sight, and their romance was wild and passionate and blazed with a fire, bright blue flames that would never burn out despite all the obstacles in their way and the ordeals they faced. The youngest struggled a little more, taking time to overcome the pile of skeletons buried in the midst of treasure, but she was the daughter of the sea and her love overflowed as such, powerful, deep, and relentless.

But we won't focus on either of them just yet. Let's talk about the middle one _because middle children are always overlooked, aren't they, but this one wasn't_, and how we can't assign one element or the other to her and _him_, how she found love and hate in the same place, how she lost her rose-tinted spectacles and somehow never _could_ regain them, but was all the better for it, and from then on employed the CC method, inspired by a best friend's nickname and another best friend's advice.

CC.

Clarity.

Choice.

The two greatest gifts one could receive, in love and life and even death.

And she did.

She.

Resurrection. Hearkening. Lock; brave, hardy.

Anastasia Simone Lockhart.

Aka, _moi_.

* * *

My life was good. That's how I always thought of it. Great home, loving family, incredible friends. I knew I was lucky.

In fact, somewhere along the line, I realized I was more than lucky.

Mom and Dad said that I was the cutest baby that ever lived and breathed on this earth. I wasn't unnaturally gorgeous or angelic or smart for my age. All babies have power—they're innocent and cherubic, with faces you just can't say no to. Nobody could say no to me. Whatever I wanted, I got. I was the mischievous little girl who got in trouble and still had everyone wrapped around her little finger.

I knew what I did.

What _she _did.

But it was a while before I did anything about her.

I persuaded my parents to let me learn to swim, to ride a horse, to do gymnastics and cross-country, to play the piano and the violin and the flute, to swim, to sing, going through them one by one, quitting them one by one. I needed something to drive me, something I enjoyed, something I was good at. Instead of skating by, I wanted to be myself. Not the enchantress who dazzled everyone to the point of blindness.

I loved history, but I couldn't stay in the past forever. Nor could I lock myself in a fantasy world of books. I spent time listening to music, but that wasn't exactly a hobby. And I _hated_ to sing. Eris always took over, melding my gentle alto into a velvety tone that brought the richness of life to mind, mink furs and satin sheets and fizzing champagne.

My voice wasn't _mine_.

_Damn straight._

So I wouldn't use my voice.

I wanted a passion—an interest. Something that was mine and mine alone.

I found it.

Ballet.

It was the channel I needed to release my energy into. I loved watching it and doing it—being part of the action. I needed to take control for once; needed a routine, something to pour all of my passion and energy into. I focused solely on the dance, forgetting how perfect I seemed to be when I wasn't, forgetting how odd it was that people thought of me as flawless at the age of five. I couldn't hypnotize people without Eris, and I couldn't speak and dance at the same time—I needed utter, absolute concentration.

I was judged for my dance, not my charm.

I didn't withdraw, or lash out, or start to neglect the people I cared about. Nothing so melodramatic. But my goals changed; they changed in that I knew what I wanted to do in life. And nothing and nobody was going to stop me.

Until someone did.

And not in the way I would have expected.

You have to understand, I was very used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted. Like I said, nobody could say no to me. Well, technically, they couldn't say no to Eris, but the benefits reaped were all mine.

Eris…I guess I should explain Eris.

_Yeah, you should. I don't like being ignored._

Eris is my other half, of sorts. Not like my girlfriend or anything. I'm pretty sure I'm a hundred percent straight. Maybe ninety if I got drunk. No, Eris is sort of this little voice in my mind that tells other people what to do and gets her kicks out of annoying me.

_Got that right._

She—I think of it as a she—has a voice similar to my regular one, yet completely different at the same time. My voice was pretty nice, I think—not harsh or grating, not ridiculously preppy, not—God forbid—high and squeaky, a vocalized version of pigtails and bubblegum. But Eris is just something else—rich and mellifluous, sultry and sensuous, sardonic words wrapped in whispery silk and melted chocolate.

_I'm flattered._

I saw her once.

I fell out of a tree when I was thirteen. I was knocked unconscious. And I saw a girl briefly. About nineteen or thereabouts, though she looked younger.

I don't think she's aged since then.

The only way I could describe her is…jewels. Materials. The classic clichés. Skin like ivory silk. Hair the blue-black of a raven's wing. Wide eyes the green of malachite, with a constant spark of calculating mischief in them, echoed in her smirk. She was a few inches shorter than me, and her body was delicate like a little sparrow's. Altogether, her appearance was very…French. Refined. Classy. The sort of girl my _grand-mère_ would approve of.

A she-devil.

_I resent that._

And I don't really care.

She was my way in, my way out. I got what I wanted, sometimes by myself, mostly by my evil other half who spun in one door and out the other as she pleased, chaos and mayhem a tornado, with her at the eye of the storm.

I tried to stop. And I did. But she still came out. Eris lived through me, controlling those around us, wreaking havoc whenever she chose.

I would never escape her.

My blessing and my curse.

The one who could save me or destroy me, depending on her frame of mind.

Thankfully, she seemed to need me, so praises were offered, doors were opened, certificates were awarded. And only the ones in ballet were from my own volition.

I knew how my life would spin out. I'd go to Bellaire Academy until I was eighteen. I would become a professional dancer and eventually end up running my own ballet school when I couldn't dance any more.

I'd meet a nice guy. In a café, at a bar, at a party. He'd be dazzled—by Eris, most likely—and ask me out. We'd have a fun first date. He'd ask me out again. And again. We'd fall in love. We'd move in together. He'd ask me to marry him. I'd have the white wedding with a bouquet of white lilies, ready to throw into Cece's arms. I'd have children. I'd be a mom. I'd watch them grow up. I'd watch them leave for college with a smile on my face and my husband's comforting arm wrapped around my waist.

I'd grow old. I'd watch my kids have their own kids. I'd move out to the country with my husband. Buy a house with a porch and a front yard. I'd sit on that porch with my husband, watching grandchildren fly around on the grass. I'd eventually die, having lived a long and happy life.

_Yeah, right._

I _didn't_ know how my life would spin out.

I always thought death would come at the end of a peaceful, content life. I didn't think to place risk or fear into this equation of happiness. And yet, it would be there. I didn't know that I would fall into chaos and terror and bliss with the beautiful ones, the terrifying ones, that the last year of my life would be filled with excitement. Danger. Love.

I didn't know that my heart would stop beating before my twentieth birthday.

I didn't know that in the end, I would think it all worth it.

I didn't know of the person who made me realize that.

I didn't know of the brightest one of them all—the one who perceived himself as a monster, but accepted the demon in my mind. The one who fell for me, not for her. The one to whom I connected on every level. The one who eventually took my hand and led me up the crooked, dangerous mountain trail and lifted me higher than the clouds.

I would know of him soon.

_Jasper Whitlock Hale._

* * *

_What is the best cliché you've ever heard used to describe someone?_


	2. Chapter 1: Unconsidered Actions

**Story:** Labyrinth

**Author:** qerrassa

**Fandom:** Twilight

**Full summary:** 'Inevitable—inexorable—relentless. It didn't matter who had come before, or what would come after; it would always be them, carving their own way through the light and the dark, embracing both wholeheartedly. "Shades of gray" seemed an appropriate phrase. On paper, life is straight and clean-cut and even; good always wins out. In actuality, it's rather like Daedalus' maze, only no one knows who is holding the string—or if there even is one. Love, lust, deceit, betrayal, light, darkness and desire, all tangled together to form an unending maze of morality and temptation, unswerving logic and heady emotions, and facing up to the demons within.'

**Rating:** Fiction M — not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language

**Genres:** Drama/Family/Friendship/Humor/Romance/Suspense

**Major pairing:** Jasper/OC

**Minor pairings: **Emmett/Rosalie, Jacob/Renesmee, Carlisle/Esme, Edward/Bella, Alice/OC, OC/OC

**Warnings: **AU, OCs, (non-explicit) suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, coarse language

* * *

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Labyrinth**_

* * *

_**Chapter One: Unconsidered Actions**_

* * *

_**The most decisive actions of our life**__**…**__**are most often unconsidered actions. **__**— Andre Gide.**_

* * *

_You would not believe your eyes  
If ten million fireflies  
Lit up the world as I fell asleep_

_'Cause they'd fill the open air  
And leave teardrops everywhere  
You'd think me rude  
But I would just stand and stare_

_I'd like to make myself believe  
That planet Earth turns slowly  
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay  
Awake when I'm asleep  
'Cause everything is never as it seems_

_'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs  
From ten thousand lightning bugs  
As they tried to teach me how to dance_

_A foxtrot above my head  
A sock hop beneath my bed  
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread_

_I'd like to make myself believe  
That planet Earth turns slowly  
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay  
Awake when I'm asleep  
'Cause everything is never as it seems  
When I fall asleep_

_Leave my door open just a crack  
(Please take me away from here)  
'Cause I feel like such an insomniac  
(Please take me away from here)  
Why do I tire of counting sheep  
(Please take me away from here)  
When I'm far too tired to fall asleep_

_To ten million fireflies  
I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes  
I got misty eyes as they said farewell_

_But I'll know where several are  
If my dreams get real bizarre  
'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar_

_I'd like to make myself believe  
That planet Earth turns slowly  
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay  
Awake when I'm asleep  
'Cause everything is never as it seems  
When I fall asleep_

_I'd like to make myself believe  
That planet Earth turns slowly  
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay  
Awake when I'm asleep  
'Cause everything is never as it seems  
When I fall asleep_

_I'd like to make myself believe  
That planet Earth turns slowly  
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay  
Awake when I'm asleep  
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams_

_**Fireflies  
Owl City**_

* * *

I looked around, my body twisting as I contemplated which direction to go in. I didn't really want to drive just yet; I'd rather wander around, get to know this place. I briefly wished Spencer had come, but pushed the thought aside. He needed to spend time with his other friends—he had, after all, spent the last three days or so with me.

Chewing my lower lip, I glanced back at the long, low house. It was actually an apartment; part of a larger house that was subdivided. Completely separate from the other apartments, so privacy wasn't really an issue.

_Plus, there's a kickass backyard._

_It has a fire pit._

_Perfect for barbecues._

I was originally going to live with Cece, but she shacked up with Oliver in some other apartment down on Janes Road (about five minutes away), the two of them being in the "I-love-you-so-much," vomit-inducing, _honeymoon_ phase of their relationship. Again.

_Took her long enough._

Mm. Two weeks. A new record for them.

_Telling her how Oliver felt was a bad idea. A very bad idea. A very, very, _very_ bad idea._

Not that bad. They're good together.

_They break up every other week._

…shut up.

But I supposed Spencer wasn't going to be the worst roommate.

_Apartment-mate._

Whatever.

I hadn't met the other neighboring tenants yet. I hoped they were okay. Not into anything too weird. Or loud rap music. Or loud sex.

Considering they were most likely to be students, these were sincere worries.

As far as apartments went, it wasn't that bad. I had my own room. Already decorated by us four—aka, me and my three best friends. The boys moved all the heavy furniture in, I painted the walls and Cece added the little artistic stylings and chose…well, basically everything that went in.

_You wanted a green bedroom. You got a green bedroom._

True.

I put a halt to my musings, my eyes glancing across the street to Greenview Market. The pitiful contents of Spencer's—_and now your_—refrigerator flashed to mind, and I bit back a grin. A six-pack of Red Bull and leftover Chinese indeed.

Step one: grocery shopping.

I crossed the street, already compiling a mental list of what I should buy, and what I could make. Normally, I would suggest—_demand_—that we split the cooking evenly, because I hated that sexist crap where the women do all the cooking, but I knew Spence well enough to understand that, well, his cooking was complete shit. Seriously.

The boy managed to char toast. _Toast_.

At least I knew how to cook. Pretty damn well, if I do say so myself.

_So arrogant._

It's true though. I learned from the best.

My mother was a godsend.

Entering the small market, I took a shopping cart and ambled through the narrow aisles—I was in no hurry—picking items up as I go past each section. The limited selection of produce lost apples and oranges, lemons and bananas, along with raspberries, my first love, and pears, Spencer's weird crush. Vegetables—cucumber, onions, carrots, garlic, potatoes, mixed peppers and mushrooms, another love of mine.

When I got to the bakery section, I took a couple of sliced loaves while looking over the freshly baked shelves of cookies. Remembering that Cece and Oliver were coming over that night for an unofficial housewarming and "welcome back to America" thing, I chose for us all. Oatmeal raisin for Oliver, peanut butter for Spencer, dark chocolate for me, and snickerdoodles for Cece. She told me once, when we were younger, that she always dusted them with cinnamon, or sandwiched them with vanilla ice-cream, or _something_. She only chose them because of the name—_snickerdoodle_.

_She's right. "Snickerdoodle" _is_ pretty funny._

I chuckled quietly to myself and, when I passed the frozen section, picked a giant tub of vanilla for her and Spencer, and another of chocolate for me and Oliver.

I was responsible too, of course, taking a mega-pack of frozen peas and a couple of armfuls of ready meals. And the eggs. Couldn't forget the eggs. Milk and yogurt and cheese, flour and sugar, salt and pepper, Foster's and Red Bull and OJ—Tropicana, no pulp. Then dried stuff—rice and pasta and oatmeal—and tinned goods—chicken soup, Cup Noodles, Nutella, lemon juice and olive oil, ketchup and mayo, as well as a _lot _of peanut butter and grape jelly—PBJ sandwiches being the main part of Spencer's rather unhealthy diet, but, you know, whatever made him happy. Besides, we were going to have to make our own food from now on, and considering we were in college—or would be in a month's time—it was more likely to be energy drinks and hurried sandwiches than fizzing champagne and mushrooms caramelized in freakin' butter.

_Yum._

Damn. I missed being cooked for.

Oh well. At least I _knew _how to make mushrooms caramelized in freakin' butter, if the occasion called for it.

Okay, meat next. I quickly picked up the basic packets of ham and turkey and pastrami, sausages and fish fillets. Next couple of aisles was just household stuff. I took toilet paper, dish and laundry detergent, paper towels and napkins, plates and plastic cutlery, soap and shampoo and toothpaste, rubber gloves and sponges. And then I was done with being responsible, picking up a king-size bar of dark chocolate and a glossy magazine for Cece and I to pore over later, admiring the outfits and striking poses.

_And you call yourself an adult._

Got that right.

The total came to seventy-something dollars, and I decided not to ask Spencer to pay up. This could be my housewarming gift to him. Of sorts.

Better I gave him food than something he was never gonna use.

I smiled politely at the sallow-skinned man behind the counter, who pursed his lips in an answering grimace, before leaving with my bags and walking back across the street, slipping through the wooden gate. So convenient to live twenty feet from a market.

Fishing in my pocket for the key, I put it in the lock and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. Walking to the kitchen at the end of the passage, I quickly unloaded all the groceries into the refrigerator, freezer and various cupboards, before repeating the method with the toiletries in the pintsized bathroom.

The entire process took me less than ten minutes.

And, when finished, left me in the exact same position I had been in not a half-hour ago.

When I had looked around, I'd noted that, apart from the small market, there were no stores along the very long street, or any of the adjoining ones.

So, I had two options. One—go inside and watch TV, even though we hadn't set up the DVD player yet and there was nothing good to watch on a Sunday afternoon. Or two—drive around.

_So, one option._

* * *

About thirty minutes later, I parked in the first lot I saw after landing in a reasonably populated area of Arcata.

_Trust you to pick the only cloud covered place in California._

Oh, who cares? Besides, I like the rain.

…

We're less than eleven hours away from home, okay? And we get to see Cece, Oliver and Spencer on, like, a daily basis.

_You said "we." So happy._

I mean me.

_Okay, less happy._

Just shut up. Please.

…_fine._

I got out of the car and ran my eyes over it again, a tinge of smugness to my smile. All I knew about it was that it was a Camaro, and that it was made in 1969. But apparently, that was enough to make my brother Jules practically quiver in jealousy. It was a welcome home present from my parents. I liked it because it was vintage, like most of my stuff, and green, my favorite color. But according to Jules, if those were the _only _reasons I liked it, then I was not "worthy" of a car like that.

Typical Jules. So unfair. I never brought up any of his numerous bad decisions.

_Are you freaking kidding? You kicked up a riot equivalent to World War III when you found out he was back with Harper._

Fine, maybe one bad decision. But that was the worst decision ever! That girl is a lying, cheating, class-A—

_All right, cool it._

Right.

I locked the door, shoved the keys into my pocket and began walking, my blue suede loafers—a present during my "Elvis" phase (though, thank God, the shoes were the closest I ever got to actually _dressing_ like him)—tapping lightly on the concrete. Drifts of white were scattered across the faded, denim blue sky, but there was no sun in sight.

An unfortunate regularity.

_This is so upsetting. I miss LA. I miss Paris._

Oh, jeez, just stop with the self-pity.

_Hey, I _have_ to pity myself. I'm the only one who cares._

Fair enough.

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my playsuit, a tie-dye confection of coral and cream—_ooh, alliteration_—I strolled down the sidewalk, taking a mental inventory of all the stores. There were a few restaurants and cafés, not to mention a RadioShack, which would make Spencer and Oliver very happy, lots of boutiques, which would make Cece very happy, and quite a few antique stores, which made _me_ very happy.

Then I saw it.

It was little, about half the size of the boutique next door—which I made a mental note to visit some other time—and the décor looked new, but the books definitely seemed older. I gathered that it was a secondhand bookshop. Maybe they would have a few first editions, or some historical novels for me to entertain myself with when I wasn't practicing. I glanced up at the sign. _The Mute Swan_. There was an actual swan next to the sign, beautifully painted, with dark, expressive eyes and feathers that seemed more ivory than true white, as most swans were depicted.

_Pretty._

Mm.

Making a snap decision, I stepped inside.

It was actually bigger inside than it looked; there were several bookcases leaning against pale green walls that seemed to absorb what little sunlight streamed through the display window, along with more stacks of books balancing on gleaming wooden surfaces and, from my vantage point, I could see a large area to sit, complete with a small piano, oversized cushions and furniture of the beanbag variety.

Totally my kind of place. I grinned, relaxing immediately.

"Hello," a velvety voice said from beside me. I turned around to see a young man standing in the previously unoccupied space. His features, though coming together to create a boyish appearance, were individually perfect, angular; reminiscent of an aristocratic bloodline. The otherwise neat form was defied by incredibly messy hair a brilliant shade of bronze, like gleaming pennies. Full lips were curved in a crooked smile, while gold eyes observed me from behind a pair of glasses, tortoiseshells perched on a straight nose. My head just barely went past the collar of his white shirt, the color of which was only a couple of shades lighter than his chalky pallor.

Something jolted down my veins, an indefinable something I didn't recognize.

_Ignore it._

His paleness was a little weird. I wondered if he had problems with circulation or something.

_He's probably anemic, poor dear._

Go away.

I decided his contacts were pretty cool. Though why anyone would wear contacts and glasses at the same time was beyond me.

_Maybe they're not contacts._

Of course they are. No one has gold eyes.

…

And I thought I told you to go away?

_Oh yeah._

"Hi," I answered, tentatively smiling back. His own smile widened slightly in response, but his eyes were wary. I frowned, contemplating what might be wrong. "What is it? No hats?" I wondered, a hand unconsciously lifting to brush against the putty colored, wool felt fedora atop my head.

The mystery boy-man with the poor circulation and hair like pennies chuckled, his eyes seemingly relaxing. "No, hats are allowed. I was just wondering if I could help you find anything."

"Oh." I relaxed then too. "No, that's okay. Do you work here?"

"Actually, I own it."

My eyebrows rose of their own volition, and he looked appropriately abashed. "Really? How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

I eyed him dubiously, and then shrugged. "Sure. Why not." It could be family money. Looked like it. Though why he would buy a bookstore with family money was beyond me. I vaguely pondered on, if I came here in the future, how my girlfriends might react to his striking good looks. Mentally wincing, my eyes automatically darted to his left hand where I was relieved, but not altogether surprised, to see a silver wedding band gleaming dully on his ring finger. His coloring seemed rather metallic, I thought in a quiet aside. Bronze for his hair; silver for his ring; gold for his eyes.

_Cool._

"Congratulations." I nodded at the ring. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Her name is Bella. And I'm the lucky one," he corrected, his entire face lighting up quietly at the mere mention of her. That was kinda sweet. There weren't a lot of couples these days who genuinely loved being married. My parents were one in a few. Jules and Harper were another, much to my chagrin.

_Get over it._

Never.

"I'm Edward—Edward Cullen."

He held out a hand, which I took. It was granite hard, and cold as ice too…yeah, the whole circulation thing was looking more likely by the minute. "Nice to meet you, Edward. I'm Ana Lockhart." I glanced at our surroundings once more, and asked, "Where did you get all these books?"

"Well, most were given to me by family, but I found a few online, and in thrift shops and such."

"Lucky you." My dry tone belied any sense of authenticity, but I was serious. He seemed to recognize that, at least. "Are you and your wife taking any classes at Humboldt?"

Edward shook his head, watching with wry amusement as I deflated. "Damn. It would've been nice to know a couple more people."

"Well, my sister is starting her freshman year."

I smiled widely. "Great!"

"She's at the back somewhere, if you wish to meet her. She—" Edward cut off, as if listening for something. He frowned after a second, and said, "Excuse me," before disappearing somewhere into the backroom.

"Nice to meet you, Edward Cullen," I murmured, but my attention was then caught by the numerous titles, some of which I recognized, most of which I didn't. I followed the narrow gaps between bookcases, eventually picking _Anna Karenina _off a shelf. My favorite character.

_I always liked Edmund. Pevensie, that is._

Totally different world, Eris.

…but yeah, he's my favorite there.

_Oh really?_

Well, it's a tie between him and that girl Aravis.

I wandered further, only to find the "Reading Zone," as it were. But now it wasn't unoccupied. There was a young girl sitting at the piano, tapping out random notes every few seconds.

That was weird. I hadn't heard anyone else moving around.

She turned to me then. A green t-shirt and designer jeans cloaked a slim, pale body, though the alabaster complexion was disrupted by two light pink stains blooming on her cheekbones. Her features were very similar to her brother's—straight, sharp, flawless. However, her wide eyes were a deep chocolate brown, edged with the same long, thick lashes, while the coppery hair was most decidedly curly, tumbling riotously over her shoulders and ending midway down her ribcage; and when she smiled, rather than it being crooked, a dimple popped out in her right cheek.

And just like her brother, she was beautiful. Maybe even more so.

"Hello," she said; again, just like him. Her voice was light and airy and enchanting, but more than that, I noticed how she had the same curiously formal way of speaking. She pronounced the "o" in hell_o _just like him.

My veins tingled with something—different, but still indefinable, and I had the most curious sense that I was closer to something.

I ignored it again.

I nodded at her. "Hey. I'm Ana."

"I am Vanessa." She smiled wider. "You may call me Nessie."

I smiled too. "Nice to meet you, Nessie." I paused, before asking, "You play the piano?"

She nodded, her curls bouncing. "I'm okay. Edward plays much better than I, though. Is there anything in particular you'd like to hear?"

I shrugged. "Not really; you can choose. So, you're coming to Humboldt too?"

Nessie nodded again, her smile lighting her face like a beacon.

"Excited?" I asked, not allowing Eris to make the word sardonic. Nessie seemed nice, and I didn't want the she-devil to push her away like she did with most people.

_Used to._

Nessie nodded, and then bit her lip. "I've never been before."

"To college?"

"To _school_," she confided, her doe eyes unusually trusting, considering she'd never met me before. "With other people. I was homeschooled."

_You've got to be kidding me._

Shut up, Eris.

_Well, at least that explains the whole freaky-formality dealio going on._

Shut _up_, Eris.

_Jeez, touchy._

I like this girl, and I won't let you verbally abuse her.

_She can't even hear me._

And your point is?

"Why?" I asked curiously, my brows knitting together. "Do your parents not trust other people to keep you out of trouble?"

"Well, it's more like they don't trust me to stay out of it." Her pretty mouth formed an impish smirk, the kind you couldn't help but respond to with one of your own.

"Yeah, I know the feeling." And it was true. I only let Eris…_guide _my parents into bending to my wishes when it was something I really wanted, so they still recognized my natural penchant for trouble.

Nessie's smile dimmed, her head tilting to one side. "I…have we met before?"

I frowned in confusion. "Um, no. Definitely not. Why?"

The girl pursed her lips in thought, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows as she pondered. "Hm. But I was certain…" She trailed off, still thinking. I shifted from one foot to the other, growing uncomfortable. Why on earth would she think she'd met me before? If we had, I would've absolutely remembered her.

Nessie gasped, drawing my attention back to her. Her face was all lit up, her eyes bright with excitement and surprise. "You're that girl!"

_Okay, say it. I was right and you were wrong. This girl is completely cray-cray. Admit it, Ana._

Never.

My frown deepened. "What girl?" I mean, what else could I have asked?

_What's your real name and how did you escape from your padded cell?_

Nope.

_Just a suggestion._

"Firebird! You're Firebird!"

"Excuse me?" I asked. Now, at least, I had an inkling of what she was talking about, but I had to make sure.

"Last winter, Bellaire Academy put on a performance of _The Firebird_ in Paris—you were the Firebird. I remember there were people from the Paris Opera Ballet there; they loved you!"

"Yeah, I know. How do _you_ know?"

_She was there. Duh._

And she miraculously heard the people from the Opera, from their _box _seats?

_Maybe she had one._

Yes…maybe.

Or maybe not.

_Or _maybe_. Why are you pushing this?_

…no fucking idea.

"Oh, I _like_ coincidences," said Nessie. "But yes, I was there, with my—parents." She stumbled a little over the word, and quickly added, "Carlisle and Esme. They're my parents." Nessie flashed another dazzling smile. I blinked a little from the overall effect, silently questioning myself. Dazzling? That was an odd choice, even for me, queen of all things vintage and kooky.

Kooky _isn't exactly the word I'd use, but whatever floats your boat._

I sounded them out in my head. _Carlisle and Esme_—the names flowed together beautifully. It was a little test I always did to discern whether couples were right for each other—the names could be in any order—that always seemed to work.

_Bella something and Edward Cullen. Edward and Bella. Bella Cullen. Yes. _No opinion yet.

_Camille Bellamy and Alexander Lockhart. Alex and Mimi. Camille Lockhart. Yes. _Fortunate.

_Harper Berry and Julian Lockhart. Jules and Harper. Harper Lockhart. Yes. _Not so fortunate.

_Cecelia West and Oliver Fremont. Oliver and Cece. Cecelia Fremont. Yes. _Confusing, at the very least.

_Anastasia Lockhart and Spencer Knight. Spencer and Ana. Anastasia Knight. No. _We worked better as friends anyway.

I had a one hundred percent success rate.

_You should make a business out of it._

Nah. Apparently, I need to stop meddling.

_But you only really meddled with Jules._

Yeah. He's the one who said it.

I tried my test again. _Esme something and Carlisle Cullen. Carlisle and Esme. Esme Cullen. Yes. _I like that.

"Like what?" asked Nessie. I nearly jumped. I'd almost forgotten she was there. She was exceptionally quiet.

"Their names." I paused. "Do you miss them?"

Nessie frowned. "Why would I miss them?"

"Because you had to leave home?" I guessed.

"Oh. No, but they have also moved here."

I smiled. At least _someone_ got to stay with their family. "That's cool; do you have any siblings who moved here too? Apart from Edward, that is. And Bella."

"Yes, Alice and Jasper moved here too. They'll be coming to Humboldt with me…Alice actually runs the boutique next door."

_The one you promised to go into next time?_

I think so.

"That's pretty cool. What, she's eighteen too?"

"Yes. So is Jasper."

"Twins?"

"No, that's Rosalie. She's somewhere in Europe right now, with Emmett, her—boyfriend. My other brother."

I was confused. "But you said Alice and Jasper were your siblings, and…" I pondered. Nine month difference, maybe? But where did Emmett fit in?

_Incest. Clearly._

But Nessie cleared it up by shaking her head and stating, "We're all adopted."

_Oh. Well, that makes sense. I can't believe you thought she was crazy, Ana._

But it was you who—

_Hush now, and stop making excuses._

My phone vibrated in my pocket then, and I pulled it out with a frown.

_Come home. Movie marathon and OC r dyin again—even tho it's literally been 1 day. They're bugging me. U r the bug spray. PLEASE COME HOME._

I smiled involuntarily, and quickly replied. _B there soon, 30 mins tops. _I already drove like a maniac, but I couldn't guarantee that a road of cars would part for me like the Red Sea did for Moses.

Damn, that guy had power.

I looked at Nessie again and said, "Okay, well, I've seriously got to go. Here"—I dug out a few dollars and gave them to her—"for the book." I held up _Anna Karenina_. I needed a new copy anyways.

"Okay. I'll see you at the college, then?" She sounded hopeful. Maybe she didn't have any friends here yet. I felt a fleeting worry, and said, "Not likely. I like you, and this store. I can guarantee that I'll be coming back."

Nessie beamed, the brightest yet.

"Hey, give me your phone."

She raised an eyebrow, but handed it over. I lightly tapped out my number and saved it in her contacts, before giving it back.

"Captain Awesome?" She sounded bewildered, and I grinned. "Change it if you want, but Captain Awesome can never be forgotten."

_Exactly._

Nessie laughed. "I won't forget."

"Bye, Ness. Text me, 'kay?"

She nodded vigorously, curls bouncing, and I smiled before turning and disappearing through the door of _The Mute Swan_.

Even if I'd known what sort of drama was going to come into my life with one simple friendship, I can't say for certain I would have changed my path.

* * *

_Who is your all-time favourite book character?_


	3. Chapter 2: Quiet Desire

**Story:** Labyrinth

**Author:** qerrassa

**Fandom:** Twilight

**Full summary:** 'Inevitable—inexorable—relentless. It didn't matter who had come before, or what would come after; it would always be them, carving their own way through the light and the dark, embracing both wholeheartedly. "Shades of gray" seemed an appropriate phrase. On paper, life is straight and clean-cut and even; good always wins out. In actuality, it's rather like Daedalus' maze, only no one knows who is holding the string—or if there even is one. Love, lust, deceit, betrayal, light, darkness and desire, all tangled together to form an unending maze of morality and temptation, unswerving logic and heady emotions, and facing up to the demons within.'

**Rating:** Fiction M — not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language

**Genres:** Drama/Family/Friendship/Humor/Romance/Suspense

**Major pairing:** Jasper/OC

**Minor pairings: **Emmett/Rosalie, Jacob/Renesmee, Carlisle/Esme, Edward/Bella, Alice/OC, OC/OC

**Warnings: **AU, OCs, (non-explicit) suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, coarse language

* * *

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_**Labyrinth**_

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Quiet Desire**_

* * *

_**To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.**_

— _**Federico García Lorca.**_

* * *

_Blue jeans, white shirt  
Walked into the room  
You know you made my eyes burn  
It was like James Dean, for sure  
You're so fresh to death and sick as  
Ca-cancer  
You were sorta punk rock,  
I grew up on hip hop  
But you fit me better than my  
Favorite sweater, and I know  
That love is mean, and love hurts  
But I still remember that day we  
Met in December, oh baby_

_I will love you 'til the end of time  
I would wait a million years  
Promise you'll remember that you're mine  
Baby can you see through the tears  
Love you more  
Than those bitches before  
Say you'll remember, oh baby,  
Say you'll remember, oh baby ooh  
I will love you 'til the end of time_

_Big dreams, gangster  
Said you had to leave to start your  
Life over  
I was like, "No please, stay here,  
We don't need no money  
We can make it all work,"  
But he headed out on Sunday,  
Said he'd come on Monday  
I stayed up waitin',  
Anticipatin', and pacin'  
But he was chasing paper  
"Caught up in the game"  
That was the last I heard_

_I will love you 'til the end of time  
I would wait a million years  
Promise you'll remember that you're mine  
Baby can you see through the tears  
Love you more  
Than those bitches before  
Say you'll remember, oh baby,  
Say you'll remember, oh baby ooh  
I will love you 'til the end of time_

_You went out every night  
And baby that's alright  
I told you that no matter  
What you did I'd be by your side  
Cause Imma ride or die  
Whether you fail or fly  
Well shit at least you tried  
But when you walked out that door  
A piece of me died  
I told you I wanted more  
But that's not what I had in mind  
I just want it like before  
We were dancing all night  
Then they took you away  
Stole you out of my life  
You just need to remember_

_I will love you 'til the end of time  
I would wait a million years  
Promise you'll remember that you're mine  
Baby can you see through the tears  
Love you more  
Than those bitches before  
Say you'll remember, oh baby,  
Say you'll remember, oh baby ooh  
I will love you 'til the end of time_

_**Blue Jeans  
Lana Del Rey**_

* * *

My phone juddered against the smooth wood of my bedside table, belting out the perky, automatic tune of the original programming. Not something I wanted to hear at…oh. _10:30_. I frowned, propping myself up in bed and blinking the sleep out of my eyes. Whoever was calling, I hadn't assigned them a personal tune yet. I picked it off the table, pressing the answer button before bringing it to my ear and asking in a surprisingly alert voice, "Hello?"

A voice of fairytales and birdsong answered, "Ana?"

I blinked rapidly, a jolt of energy and unexpected pleasure surging through me as I recognized the person at the other end. "Nessie? Hey!"

"Hello," she said in that curious formality. Her voice seemed more subdued than last week, and my brows contracted. We had been texting back and forth the past few days, finding out about each other and liking what we found. As such, I considered her a fairly good friend. "Are you okay? You sound kind of upset. No, not upset—serious."

"Oh, I'm just tired."

"Mm, I know the feeling." I rolled my head back to get all the cricks out of my neck.

_Crickity-crack go the little bones in the arching neck…_

Yeah, Eris was in one of her, uh, dafter moods.

"I woke you up?"

She sounded regretful, and I hastened to assure her, "Don't worry, I overslept. So what's up?"

"Well, I was just…" Her voice broke off suddenly, but I knew she was still there. I was suddenly reminded of when Cordie would want something from me, but couldn't quite bring herself to ask—often playing with her hair as she did so. "Yeah?" I asked, in a tone that left no option but for her to elaborate.

Nessie spoke again, her tone bolder, reckless, defiant. "Would you like to go out today? Perhaps shopping, or exploring, or a movie, or…" She seemed about to reel off an itinerary, and I stopped her with a small chuckle. "Ness, relax. You had me at shopping."

"You like shopping?" The sentence was small, like she regretted her words.

"Um, kind of. I am a girly girl in some ways, I guess. More of a history geek than anything else. And I'm looking for some more books as well. If I stop by your brother's bookshop and pick you up, then we can hang around for a few minutes. Oh, and you said you'd show me that boutique of your sister's, or something?"

"Yes, okay, but I do not have a car at the moment. And after, we can explore or—or whatever?"

"Sounds great." I smiled. "Okay, I'll be there in about an hour, is that cool?"

"Yes. That is very cool," she answered, trying my words.

_This kid is such a dork._

I laughed out loud. "Okay, quit making me laugh. I have to go get dressed. See you later."

"Goodbye, Ana." She cut the line.

I placed my cell back on the table and swung my legs sideways, rising from the bed in one fluid movement and stretching my arms above my head. It was then that I heard the sound of pans and dishes being shifted, metal clattering against them. The sound of Spencer cooking.

_Or, as I put it, the most terrifying sound in the world._

No, that's Millie's singing.

I yelled out, "Spencer, don't you dare start cooking!"

"I wasn't gonna!" he yelled back.

"You were so, I could _hear _you!" Suffice to say, Spencer brought out the five-year-old in me.

There was a silence, before I heard a defeated "Fine."

Walking out into the hallway, I was confronted by the sight of Spencer slumped over his knees on the couch, his head in his hands, and a small smile curled the corners of my mouth. "Spence?" He lifted his head and my smile widened, my lips forming a slight pout. Spencer was, in actuality, about six feet tall, trim and well-built with biceps that Cece called "swoon-worthy", albeit in an attempt to drive Oliver mad with jealousy. (It worked remarkably well. He punched Spencer in the face and broke his nose, causing a momentary fracture to blossom in their previously easygoing friendship. It should be noted that Cece had never tried to make Oliver jealous again.) But now, curled up on himself, with his mussed golden curls, bright blue eyes and slightly flushed cheeks, he looked like a mix of a choirboy and a cherub, and quite frankly, I adored it. "You look so _cute_ in the morning, you know that?"

His straight nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought, and I continued, my glee evident at his distaste. "Like a little cherub, so celestial with your golden hair and the sky in your eyes. Adorable little boy."

"It's too early for your romantic bull, Ana."

"Is not. But I concede. I have to leave soon anyway."

"Oh, because the supreme, the wonderful, the unsurpassed dates are executed at"—he glanced at the clock on the wall—"half past ten."

_Well, duh._

You're so witty this morning, aren't you, Eris, love?

_Hey, Spencer already told you. It's too early for this bull._

"Of course, darling; brunch is _all_ the rage now, didn't you know?"

"No."

I tutted in mock exasperation as I walked past him into the tiny kitchen, ruffling his hair and taking a hold of his hand, pulling him up. He acquiesced easily and followed me into the kitchen, watching with mild interest as I fixed him a bowl of cereal—cornflakes first, cold milk next, a teaspoon of brown sugar and a chopped banana: Spencer-style. He gave me a wan smile as I placed the bowl in front of him. "Is it a real date then?"

"Nah, just a girl I met a few days ago. She's new too; moved here with her family, coming to Humboldt too, but she doesn't really have any friends here yet, I don't think. And she's nice too. Her name's Nessie—I mean, Vanessa."

His eyes sharpened. "Vanessa? She sounds hot."

_She is. Kooky, but all the hot ones are._

Are you into girls now?

_Ana, an inner voice isn't permanently fixed on mundane concepts such as "gay" and "straight". We fluctuate, oscillate, vacillate—_

So no?

_No._

"Oh, come on. Even you aren't that much of a whore."

"You continue to underestimate me, my good woman. I am an Aries, after all." Spencer grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes. Typical Spencer. But I knew he wasn't really that bad. He played the part because it was his. Dramatic in this as in everything. It was a private joke between us four.

_Bunch of weirdos._

When we were about fourteen or fifteen, Cece had gotten really into astrology—and actually never gotten out of it, which was odd considering how practical she was about everything else. She'd told us, in a very serene and mystical voice, that we were all perfectly suited for each other as best friends—each one of the elements by our birthdays and star signs. She, a Virgo, was earth, and as such, analytical, a perfectionist and meticulous among other things. Oliver was a Cancer, and water; creative, intuitive, loving. Together, they were _mud_ (which Spencer had scorned affectionately and I had quirked an eyebrow at), but very suited to each other. Spencer was, as he said, an Aries, fire, and headstrong, impulsive and physical, the latter prompting him to act like a total lecher at times, much to our amusement. I myself was a Gemini, an air sign, and apparently charming, versatile, intellectual, a thinker.

_The charming thing's only because of me, you know._

Sure. You keep telling yourself that.

Spencer and I as a couple were _hot air_; not so good. Cece had predicted my ideal match to make our relationship _rain_, which would mean a water sign—Cancer (not Oliver, Cece would slaughter me, best-friend status be damned), Pisces, or Scorpio.

But whatever. Not like I believed in this bull anyway.

Although Cece did say that Scorpio and I would be intense. I like intense.

_Yeah, you _definitely_ don't believe this "bull"._

Shut up.

_Okay, but I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for a Scorpio._

You don't have eyes.

_I'll use yours._

Ugh. I actually have to deal with this on a daily basis.

Such is my life.

* * *

This time, I only parked a street away from _The Mute Swan_, and got there in about two minutes. Nessie was already waiting outside for me, her eyes fixing on me the second I turned the corner and a light smile touching her lips. She looked simultaneously happier and sadder to see me than last time, and I silently wondered why.

"Hey," I greeted as I walked closer. "Ready to go?"

Nessie nodded. "Am I wearing appropriate clothing?" She gestured to her outfit, and I took it in. A simple sweater the pale pink color of her blush and dark gray skinny jeans, with a denim jacket and chocolate leather boots that cut off at her knees.

I cocked my head to the side, before nodding in approval. "I like the boots. Where did you get them?"

"Oh, my sister gave them to me."

"Alice?"

"Alice," stated Nessie, and I had a feeling she wasn't just agreeing with my statement, so I turned around.

_Holy crap. I swear that girl is smaller than Cordie._

No…probably about the same size.

She was petite and slim, probably not clearing five feet, and dressed fashionably in a silvery silk blouse, navy jeans and a fuchsia shrug. Her hair was cropped short and pointed every which way, and the inky black color of it was startling against her snowy complexion, just as her golden eyes—eyes the exact gold shade possessed by Edward Cullen _(same contacts, clearly)_—seemed especially large, framed by such long lashes and placed in such a small, delicate face.

Absolutely beautiful.

_I wonder if the rest of her family looks like this._

I hope not. My self-esteem would be shot to hell.

_And we all know how shaky that is._

Shut up.

_Why do all our conversations have to end like this?_

Because you never shut up when I tell you to shut up!

_So why do you persist?_

…I don't know.

Those large eyes were fixed directly on me, and they were so imploring and heartbroken and purely _pained_ that I actually stepped back a little. I lifted a hand, waving slightly, and said, "Hi. Alice, right?"

_Yeah, you _totally_ didn't inherit any social incompetence._

I actually didn't. Both my parents are extremely socially skilled.

_You realize this only makes your awkwardness more disturbing._

"That's right." A smile tilted the corners of her cerise-tinted lips, but didn't reach her eyes, eyes which were now filled with thoughtfulness and a deep, welling regret. "And you must be Anastasia."

"Ana," I corrected.

Alice nodded in acknowledgment. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Finally? Have you heard of me before?"

Her smile dimmed. "Something like that."

"We should really be going," interjected Nessie, who raised an eyebrow at me.

"We should?"

"We should."

I turned to Alice, a fake-apologetic and real-sarcastic smile in place. "We should." Nessie rolled her eyes at me, and I simpered innocently, batting my eyelashes.

"That's fine," Alice said. "But you should stop by the boutique on the way back." She didn't say any more, instead choosing to stare at me a moment longer, turn on her heel and head back inside before I had a chance to respond.

"Sure thing," I said to the empty space in front of me. "Nice meeting you, Alice."

_Talking to air? Good grief._

This coming from the voice living inside my head who cusses me out on a regular basis.

_Hey, it's perfectly normal to cuss out your landlord._

Landlord? Bitch, please. You don't even pay rent.

_Hey, if you want money, I'll get you money!_

From where, Eris? From where?

…_I'll get back to you on that._

Psh.

She never did.

Just then, a guy came out of the boutique, carrying a few boxes. Taller than me by a head and then some, lean and muscular, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs, every line of his body covered and defined by a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. His features—straight nose and full lips, high cheekbones and firm chin, dark brows darting fiercely across a severe brow—were raw and masculine, but tailored to sleekness, like rough sandstone overlain with porcelain, smoothing and refining his appearance to one which fell under the same category as Edward's and Alice's, and even Nessie's to a certain extent. Honey blond curls falling into his shadowed eyes—_gold. Of course_—and hanging loosely around a strong jaw and neck completed the image of what had to have been, alongside one of the most handsome men I had ever seen, the only person who had ever evoked such a response from me, physically and emotionally. Something seemed to simultaneously tug on my head and my heart, wanting me to draw closer to him; the electricity shooting through me peaked unbearably, before lulling to a low hum of tension that never ceased.

Shame it didn't work both ways. Apart from a slight tensing of his jawline, a fleeting nod in my direction, he didn't pay me any attention at all, walking past to dump the boxes in a dark blue pickup truck.

"Jasper, this is Ana. Ana, meet my brother Jasper," said Nessie.

Nessie clearly wasn't picking up on the tension.

Or so I hoped.

Because if she was, I was going to throttle her.

Jasper, turning around, finally looked me in the eye and nodded at me stiffly, his shoulders rigid. "A pleasure to meet you, Anastasia." His voice was a smooth, rich tenor, easy and calm, a stark contrast to his decidedly hostile posture.

"Is it now." The statement was flat, without any inflection; it wasn't a question. I mentally cursed; I was supposed to reserve my biting sarcasm for myself and Eris—and my three best friends when they were being especially moronic—not extremely hot strangers who I had frickin' _electric_ responses to.

"Do you think differently?" His lips curved into a smirk, and he quirked a single, beautiful eyebrow at me, daring me to go on.

_Oh, man. You really have it bad if you're calling his _eyebrows_ beautiful._

Eye_brow_, not –_brows_.

"Forget it," I said flippantly, before murmuring, "The person who first said 'honesty is the best policy' was a goddamn liar." Jasper let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with something close to respect.

_I think he heard you._

You don't say.

_All right, no need for sarcasm._

With me, there's always a need for sarcasm.

_Good point._

Nessie cleared her throat lightly, and I started guiltily. I'd forgotten her completely. Some friend I was. Jasper glanced over my head at Nessie, and a look passed between them that I couldn't decipher, and had barely a second to attempt to before Jasper inclined his head at me once more and said, "Goodbye, Anastasia." And then he left.

Nessie stared at me a second longer, and I shifted uncomfortably. She picked up on it, and her arms uncrossed as she tilted her head in the direction I had come from. I nodded silently, and fell into step with her. "So…" I tried, then shrugged. "Ah, forget it. Ness, your brother is…" I fumbled for an appropriate word—_you might need a while, lady_—before giving up and shrugging again. "Something. He's really something."

She snorted delicately. "Yes, Jasper is _something_ all right. But really, Ana—"

"I know, I know, he's committed. I'm not that kind of girl, Ness. 'Sides, who could compete with Alice?"

_Not you._

"Not you."

For a brief second, I wondered if Eris and Nessie knew each other in a previous life.

_Me and the dork? Not likely, toots._

Don't—don't call me that. Ever.

_Noted._

"Oh thanks. Your friendship means a lot to me too."

"It should do, Anastasia. I am an essential part of your life now." I rolled my eyes as she smirked, sliding into the passenger seat, and the twist of her mouth looked uncannily like Jasper's.

_I think you're rubbing off on her._

I think so too.

_Hm. More's the pity._

Something niggled at the back of my mind, telling me I was missing something. It wasn't until I returned home, laden with bags of shopping that Nessie had paid for by flashing pearly teeth and a shiny black credit card, that I realized what I'd missed. I dropped the bags to the floor, narrowly missing Spencer's head (why he was lying on the floor of my room, I have no idea. Spence was, quite possibly, crazier than me) and pulled out my cell phone to the sound of his cursing. I checked the messages between me and Nessie.

_Nessie and I._

No, Nessie and _I_.

_You know what I mean._

I do know what you mean. Hee hee.

After scanning them intently, I reviewed our afternoon together, even though I had met her before. There was no point in it, but I like to be thorough.

_"And you must be Anastasia."_

_"A pleasure to meet you, Anastasia."_

_"It should do, Anastasia."_

Not once, from the moment I met Edward to the last conversation I'd had with Ness, had I mentioned to these strange, beautiful people that my full name was Anastasia.

_Hm. Time to step into the Sherlock persona._

Is it now?

Oui_. I'll bring the magnifying glass._

* * *

_How do you eat your cereal?_


End file.
